Cold (Based on Thor by Ashley Miller and Zack Stentz) A Loki FanFic
by C.A. Villeta
Summary: After losing his brother due to the Allfather's banishment, Loki sets out to find the answers to the running questions in his head. "Cold" is a short story fanfiction about Loki's discovery of his true parentage from the view of the God of Mischief himself.


Darkness looms over the hallways of the palace only to be disturbed by the frolicking lights coming from the flames that are mounted on the walls. The hallways are deserted. It is almost midnight, after all. My only companion during this accursed walk is the sound of the wooden soles of my black leather boots against the polished white marble floor.  
I stop walking and look down at my reflection on the wall. That is how polished it is. I do have to commend the work that the maids had put into it to make the palace more presentable than it usually was. Emerald green eyes stare back at me with evidence of distress plastered all around it. As I watch my reflection sizes me up, events that had transpired earlier that day race through my head.

Brother.  
I could not do anything as I watched him get sucked into the vortex and away from Asgard. Was that my fault? Did I cause all of that?  
Oh sure, I admit that those Frost Giants entering the palace was my doing but how was I to know that it will end up in such a disaster?! I just did that to stall Thor's coronation! He was not yet fit to be king. He was too arrogant, too immature, too proud, and too emotional to be one. It was not like I was fit as well. I knew that! Oh how many times did the Allfather point _that_ one out!  
That oaf did have his moments. Perhaps I was too immersed in my little mischief then to see the possible danger of what letting Frost Giants in into Asgardian territory may imply. Helms are off towards Thor for pointing that one out to Father. Yet, Father was also right. We were thinking like warriors, not kings. It _is_ Jotun territory and not Midgard wherein we were deemed as gods as how Fandral would say.

Midgard…  
I saved us! If I did not tell that guard what was about to happen then we would end up to be carcasses. I only did what I thought was right.  
Then, why did I feel guilty? Why had everything gone so terribly downhill? What was happening?!

I… I…  
A low growl of pure frustrated despair escapes my lips as I wipe my face with my hands in a feeble attempt to cast out of my person this confusing and distasteful sensation that was boiling within me. With the clenching of the teeth, I stare at the wall a few more strides away from me. One more turn to the left and then I will be at my destination.

My arm…  
Why did it not burn with that creature's touch? Raising my arm in front of my face, I ensure that ample light shines on it as I reach up to slowly pull down the sleeve of my green fleeceshirt. Perhaps, it is burned. It might have been charred beyond repair that the agony of it had sent me to the brink of insanity, making me see hallucinations.  
Volstagg's injury is indeed a disgusting sight to behold. His skin is charred, black blisterscover the whole mass as a pinkish hue surrounds its edges as if blood is prohibited from flowing into the site of the damage. Perhaps, my injury is far worse. The sight of it might be so bile that Volstagg's looks mild in comparison. It might be possible that my proud mind refuses to accept the horrid infliction.  
I loudly suck a heap of midnight air before I witness pale, smooth skin reveal itself while I roll down my sleeve from my arm. Breathing back out the now-warm air, I stare at my arm and turn it from one side to the next. With rekindled determination, I look past my arm, letting it drop back to my side. My destination is locked in target inside my mind as I take a stomp forth to where the head of my reflection should have been and continue on my walk.

Two magnificent, large golden doors stand behind two guards. My eyes narrow as the pair stare at me with suspicion before opening the doors. Walking past them, I enter the Vault. A long, dark hallway greets me as the doors close behind me. There at the end of the hallway is a small, glowing casket. The blue light is enough to illuminate the whole pedestal that the casket was sitting on. Once again, the sound of the wooden soles of my black leather boots against the marble floor accompanies me as I make that short journey to the Casket of Ancient Winters. This time, the floor is of black marble, matching the eerie atmosphere and the darkness that I am feeling within.

Standing before the casket, I look down once more at my reflection on the marbled floor. Green eyes and pale skin mimic me. His jaw clenches as he watches me with hard eyes. With a huff of breath, I cautiously take hold of the handles in fear of the cold resonating from it might burn my fingers to charcoal.

In my deepest core, however, I _knew_ it will not hurt.

I watch as cyan starts to consume my skin while I mindlessly stroke the embossed design of the handles with my thumb. Markings of varying forms start to disturb the smoothness of my formerly pearly arms. Some were deep like trenches over a dry canyon while others were embossed which reminds me of the numerous scars that I have endured over the years of battle.

Should I dare look?  
Lifting up the weapon, I stare at it with disgusted apprehension.  
I should.  
One quick bow of my head, I see a different reflection looking back at me.  
It is a ghost. My ghost…  
Disturbed midnight blue features of a new face watch me with horror. His eyes are the eyes of murder. Yet, those eyes never looked so scared as it crawls its way into the very core of memory and sits there like it's finally home. Forever will I despise those blood red eyes…

"Stop!"

A voice that could only belong to Father yelled over from the entrance of the Vault. I jump in surprise, looking ahead to see the latticework relax and move back in place with its sickly fire disappearing from view. Only then have I realized that I have roused the Destroyer and endangered my existence with this visit.

Perfect timing…  
Father always knew when to show up when you need him. My eyes fall back on my reflection on the black marble floor. Why am I like this? Does that mean that I am…?

"Am I cursed?"

My voice is the steadiest that I could muster for I could feel myself breaking apart any second.

"No. Put the casket down."

I slowly lower the casket back on its pedestal. My hands feel like cement getting heavier and heavier as I tighten my grip on the weapon's handles. I will get answers. I will make sure that this conversation does not end without me getting what I want. Letting go of the handles, I quickly turn around to face Father. His gaze was steady but he cannot hide from me his unease at the monstrosity before him. I feel the cold leave my body like a great shiver. I know that I have changed back, no need for a reflection check for that.

"What am I?"

Father stared at me. His eyes are the mix of anxiety, pity, and defeat.

"You are my son."

My jaws harden at his attempt to make the situation lighter.

"What more than that?"

He says nothing. Perhaps, the answer is so heavy that the mere speaking of it is torture. Good.

"The casket was not the only one that you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?"

I can make out the movement of his lips and, from that distance, I can feel his surrender escape him along with the sigh that is barely there. I wish that he reacted differently.

"No. In the aftermath of the battle, I went inside the Temple and I found a baby. Small for a giant's offspring – abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son…"

I wish that he answered differently.  
I rather have him say that I have this disease and that Mother and he kept the truth to protect me.  
But no…  
I do not have the disease. I _am_ the disease – a disease cultivated by total strangers.

"Laufey's son…"

Of all the Frost Giants, I had to be the son of King Laufey. No wonder I felt that I never belonged to be called an Odinson. That is because I am never one to begin with! Laufeyson…  
I pray for my mind to stop thinking. I do not wish to hear more about it. I am now scared to know the truth. I regret asking but I am compelled by the situation.

"Why? You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?"

I search Father's eyes for an answer, my mind reeling and regretting that I have asked yet I have the urge to know. I _needed_ to know.

"You were an innocent child."

I inhale a huff of air through my flaring nostrils, my expression turning grim to hide my desperation. How dare he sugar-coat his answer?

"You took me for a purpose, what was it?"

Father merely watches me. I can see him breaking before me. I can see the suffering that I am bringing to him. I do not care. My whole life, I only thought of what he wanted, of what he thought was good.  
No. This is my time now, _my_ moment! I will not be settled until I get what I want. I can no longer hide the despair as a tear is queuing at the edge of my eye, waiting for the cue to fall.

A voice that I never thought I could conjure erupts from my throat. It was loud, broken, and crushing like a thousand promises breaking at the same time, never to be fulfilled.

"TELL ME!" I screamed at him.

Father takes a deep breath, inhaling all the courage and control that he could before replying.

"I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace… through you but those plans no longer matter."

All of the air is being knocked out of my lungs with every single word as I stare at Father in disbelief. I was always taught by Mother that my fate is laid out for m and it is my choice how I will place it together. Was that a lie as well? No matter how hard I try to play my cards and no matter how simple or how complex I lay out my fate for myself, it is all for naught as it was laid out and written from me from the very beginning!

"So I am no more than a stolen relic, locked up here until you make use of me?"

"Why do you twist my words?"

"You could have told what I was from the beginning. Why didn't you?"

"You are my son, my blood, I wanted only to protect you from the truth."

My vision starts to get foggy with moisture in tune to the clouding of my mind.  
The creatures that I have slain, the race that I have despised… I am one of them. My voice cracks as I try to break my words past the increasing lump in my throat.

"Because I… I… I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?"

I forget what self-control felt like and meant. I deliberately forget how to keep my anger and emotions at bay.  
There is no point in restraining myself anymore.  
Like an erupting volcano, my anger washes over my whole being.  
I cannot see, hear, nor feel.  
I am rage.

I remember snarling at Father, releasing a voice that is also not my own.

"It makes all sense now why you favored Thor all these years… because no matter how much you claim to 'love' me, you can never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!"

The world around me is a blur, distorted and out of sync. I just want to get out of there in fear that if I stay a second longer then I might do something that I will regret not to regret later on. I start to stomp up the steps to the doors, my ears deaf to Father's pleas and my whole concentration on those doors.  
As I reach forth to push the cold, golden doors, a scream resonates into my ears as it breaks through the shield that my rage has built around me. Whirling my head around, my eyes widen at the sight of Father lying on the stone steps, unconscious.

What have I done?

I rush to him as quickly as I can, raising his head and cradling him in my arms as I yell for the guards outside. I look down on Father's face, wrinkled and stressed with aged pain and sorrow. I ask myself while the sound of the guards hurriedly surrounds Father to take him away ring in my ears.

What happens now?


End file.
